“Hi,” Nikki said, approaching with a smile. “I’m Nikki.”
“Sally,” said the girl.
“How did you know Claire?” Nikki asked, taking the seat opposite.
“Went to primary school together, didn’t we?” Sally’s voice was oddly high-pitched and wispy. Nikki had to lean in to catch it. “So I’ve known her the longest. If anyone should be feeling sad, it’s me, right? Not like everyone else here, all looking so tragic. Everyone pretending like they gave a toss about her. But they didn’t really know her, did they?”
“So, you were close friends?”
“That’s what I’m saying, right? Not like anybody cares what I’m feeling.”
“Tell me about her.”
Sally glanced at Nikki with hungry eagerness.
“We met when we were, like, eight years old. Her mum and dad split when she was six, and she was proper upset about it, yeah?”
“Is her mum here?” Nikki asked. “I’ve never met her.”
“That’s her over there. Lydia.”
She pointed at three middle-aged women standing near an artist’s easel where a large photograph of Claire was displayed. One of the women, wearing a cotton dress and jumper, bore a striking resemblance to Claire—with the same smooth skin and full, expressive mouth. Her eyes were swollen with crying and there was a hopeless agitation to the way she gripped her coffee cup, and shifted from foot to foot.
“Are you a nanny, too?” Nikki asked.
“Not a chance! That was Claire’s gig. She was all about kids. Just mad for ’em. But I reckon I should’ve jumped on that bandwagon—’cause let me tell you, the dads Claire worked for were absolutely fit. Have you seen Jayston Lake? Absolute dish. Claire was all over him, too.”
“Claire was interested in Jayston Lake?”
“Who wouldn’t be?” She glanced at Nikki as if for confirmation, then added, “I mean, come on? He’s proper famous. Can you imagine?”
“Did she ever tell you that she was interested?” Nikki asked.
Sally shrugged. “Blogged about it, didn’t she?”
Nikki sat up straighter. “She did?”
“Not with her own name, ’course.”
“What name did she use?”
“What was it?” Sally grabbed her phone and started scrolling. “Something proper weird…thorny…something. Ah! Yeah…Omygod. It’s him.”
It took Nikki a moment to follow Sally’s attention, which was drawn away from her phone and to the entrance. Nikki half expected to see Jayston, but instead there was a startlingly good-looking man in his early thirties—refined features, hollow cheeks, and a mane of shining brown hair. He wore stylish black trousers and a skintight jacket over a clinging T-shirt. Striding into the room, he was welcomed by the crowd with exclamations and evident excitement.
“Who’s that?” Nikki asked.
“Teddy Sexton. Claire’s half brother. Isn’t he fit? And he’s dead clever. He’s, like, some sort of genius inventor.”
“He doesn’t look like Claire,” Nikki observed.
Sally made a snorting noise. “I said half brother, didn’t I? Same dad—whitedad.”
“I should go,” Nikki said, standing. She started to reach for a handshake, but Sally’s eyes narrowed and she tossed her head, clearly taking offense.
“Fine, go on, then. Ain’t nobody bothered about what I gotta say, anyway.”
—
